


Ohana

by Tibbins



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Angst, Castiel in the Bunker, Destiel Day, Disney Movies, Domestic Fluff, Fluff, John Winchester's A+ Parenting, M/M, Movie Night, POV Dean Winchester, POV Sam Winchester, Protective Dean Winchester, Struggling Sam Winchester, Team Free Will, Violence
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-09-18
Updated: 2018-09-18
Packaged: 2019-07-13 15:39:28
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,758
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16020929
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Tibbins/pseuds/Tibbins
Summary: It's movie night in the bunker and the boys settle in with snacks. But Dean isn't feeling too good, though this is probably the happiest he's been in years. Destiel.





	Ohana

**Author's Note:**

  * For [NaitiaClo960](https://archiveofourown.org/users/NaitiaClo960/gifts).



> Hi everyone! HAPPY DESTIEL DAY!
> 
> So here's a fic I've been working on for a few weeks now that I just had to post today for... reasons. It includes Disney and angst.  
> Dedicated to NaitiaClo960 because she's translating one of my other fics into French (Poison Fruit)! Which is super exciting, so this is a little thank you for getting in touch.
> 
> Enjoy ^_^

 

"You know," Dean said, plonking himself down onto the sofa and carefully tipping his armful of snacks onto the table in front of them. "I hate Metatron for a lot of things, but the one thing I will never be able to forgive him for is zapping your brain full of pop-culture." He glanced over at Cas who tilted his head, frowning. He looked a little like a confused bird when he did that which never failed to amuse Dean.

"Metatron _killed_ you, Dean. Isn't that more of a reason to hate someone?"

Dean shrugged as he opened the bag of popcorn, "Lotsa people've killed me. Hell,  _I've_ killed me."

Cas pressed his lips together at that and Dean winced, regretting bringing it up. Cas had  _not_  been pleased when Sam told him about that 'incident' on the salt and burn case. Fortunately, he held back on that particular lecture.

"He also stole my grace, caused all the angels to fall  _including_  Gadreel, and-"

"-alright, alright, I get it. I said I hated him for a lot."

"I thought you liked it when I understood your references."

"Yeah,  _some_ of them are fine. Like all the political stuff and the crappy reality shows, you know, the ones that catching you up on would be a huge chore." Dean turned his full attention to pouring soda into three plastic cups but he could feel Cas' glare burning into the side of his head.

"And the others?"

"The others you only get 'cause Metatron whammied you."

Cas sighed and leaned forward, snatching a handful of popcorn before settling back, "I still don't see your point. It was the most efficient way for me to 'catch up'." He popped a piece into his mouth. Cas may not need to eat but he did like popcorn. He told Dean once that it was so insubstantial anyway that even as molecules, it tasted almost the same as when he was human. "Personally, I think helping me to understand pop-culture was one of the only helpful things he ever did."

Dean pushed one cup towards the armchair, Sammy's preferred spot when he couldn't sprawl all over the couch like a freaking melting clock, and another towards Cas, though he knew the angel would only take a couple of sips and Dean would steal the rest once he'd finished his own. He would've preferred beer but Sam had been adamant that they 'need to set an example for Jack' and 'you drink too much anyway, Dean,' and had purged the bunker of all things alcohol, even the stuff in the first aid kit which Dean had definitely never been tempted to drink, not once.

Dean had scoffed at his little brother, but after a week of not sleeping, snapping at everyone, puking his guts up and sweating what felt like half his body weight, he had to admit that maybe Sam had a point. Withdrawal was a bitch, even if he kept that term firmly to himself.

"My point is," Dean said, sipping his soda and letting the bubbles burst gently at the back of his throat before swallowing, "watching a movie for the first time is like… I dunno, like a rite of passage. Before you know what's gonna happen and before you can pick it apart, you just get to experience it. And you can like it or not but the first time you see it is gonna change something in you. Even if you hate it in the first five minutes, or if you find it boring or forgettable, that first time is something you can't get back. And Metatron robbed you of that, so now, you've got all the knowledge but you don't really have anything to go with it, you know? It's all just quotes and snatches of context but you'll never really get why it was funny or why it was powerful or what it makes you feel. You didn't follow these people or get invested in their stories, you just know 'em, and that kinda sucks."

"I have seen movies before, Dean," Cas said stiffly.

Dean felt himself flush, and it wasn't because of his withdrawal.

"Yeah, I know," he said quietly, even his ears burning now. His words replayed in his brain, joining the carousel of stupid.

Cas apparently noticed his change of tone because his voice was softer when he spoke again. "I wish I could see it the way you do," he said, "I only see movies as distractions. You seem to see them as escapes, which sounds far more satisfying."

"I guess." Dean pulled a bag of chips onto his lap and opened it, letting the crinkle of the bag fill the space where more words should be. He heard an intake of breath, as though Cas was going to say something else when Sam shouldered the door open, laden with a steaming plate of nachos, goopy with cheese. "'Bout time, man," Dean said, shifting several bags of candy out of the way so Sam could put the plate down, "how long does it take to melt cheese?"

"I cut the jalapeños too," Sam huffed, depositing the plate in the cleared space and dropping into the armchair with a muffled thump. One of his eyes was red and bloodshot, "got some in my eye, spent about ten minutes rinsing it out."

"Hah!" Dean guffawed through a mouthful of nachos, peppers and cool sour cream, "Rookie move, Sam."

"Are you alright?" Cas asked him.

"Fine,  _thanks Cas_." Sam replied pointedly, to which Dean chuckled, spraying crumbs over the table. Cas wrinkled his nose in disgust but Sam just rolled his eyes. "You guys pick a movie yet?"

"We were waiting for you," Cas said, ignoring Dean's glare "it's technically Jack's turn to choose but seeing as he's helping Jody, we thought-"

Dean cleared his throat loudly.

"- _I_  thought," Cas amended, "that we should decide together."

Sam's lips twitched as his eyes flicked from his brother to the angel, "Uhh," Sam said, "bad idea. If it's not something Dean's already seen a billion times, he's not interested."

"And  _Sam_  only picks artsy, foreign crap with subtitles," Dean retorted, face heating up again, "if I wanted to read, I'd pick up a book."

"Oh boy," he heard Cas mutter behind him.

"Well forgive me for being interested in  _culture_  and wanting to try new things," Sam snapped, "I'm sorry but I can't watch High Noon eight times in a row without getting bored."

"They're called classics for a reason, Sam."

"Yeah, because they're old and everyone already knows the plot!"

"What's wrong with sticking with what you know is good?" Dean said, throwing a piece of popcorn at Sam, who retaliated with a chip he had just pulled from the bag, "Don't mess with perfection, Sammy."

"You know that they still make movies, right? New ones, with interesting characters and diversity and-"

"Oh, here we go," Dean threw a despairing glance at Cas, who raised his hands in a clear indication that he was not getting involved, "yeah, I get it, the media is influential, everyone is equal, blah, blah, blah, that's great. But that doesn't mean I wanna sit through two hours of hippie 'love everyone' crap."

"It's  _important_ , Dean," Sam said irritably, his gaze heavy as he leaned forward, "if you'd seen a few more movies like that when we were younger then maybe you'd be less-"

"Less  _what_ , exactly?"

Dean's voice sliced through Sam's sentence like a scalpel through flesh. Anger and embarrassment coursed through him, not least because of the long pause before Sam's eyes darted over his shoulder for a moment before sinking back into the chair with a quiet, "Less of an ass."

"Alright, that's enough." Cas said, levering himself gracefully off the couch to pluck the remote from the table and flick through the options on Netflix. He selected something and shot down both the brothers' protests. "Executive decision," he said firmly, "if you don't like it, then go do something else. The whole point of these evenings is so that we do something together  _other_  than fight."

The brothers shared a glance before both relenting, settling in to watch  _Lilo and Stitch_  without another word. Cas sat back onto the couch, stiff and annoyed, bunched into one corner. In contrast Dean stretched out, bringing his legs up onto the sofa and taking up as much space as he could, exaggerating the movements to get an amused snort from Sam. Cas glanced at him for a second before some of the tension left his shoulders and he relaxed too, getting comfortable now that Dean and Sam had stopped bickering, and shoving Dean's legs a little until he moved them to accommodate.

One would have to catch Dean in a particular mood for him to admit it, but he loved this movie. A family that was just a little bit different, siblings looking out for each other, aliens and Elvis, what's not to love? He chuckled when Stitch appeared out of the wreckage of his ship, cackling madly after Lilo's prayer, and couldn't help but look over at Cas. The angel was leaning forward, elbows tucked in, head tilted slightly as he squinted at the TV as though he were trying to puzzle something out. Dean nudged him with his foot.

"What's up?" he asked quietly.

Cas just shook his head, his entire focus on the screen. Dean raised an eyebrow and turned to look at Sam, who shrugged, before returning to the movie.

Nani remained stony-faced as she passed the two one-dollar bills back and forth between her sister and the shelter lady. Dean grinned, remembering a time when snot-nosed little Sammy had forced him into that exact exchange for a book he'd seen at a flea market they'd been passing. Too small to see what was on the tables, Sam had been hoisted onto Dean's shoulders while John moved to a different stall to inspect some army surplus stuff. Sammy had almost poked one of his eyes out to get his attention when he spotted the book and Dean made a great show of picking out several wrong ones, one of which was about knitting, much to the amusement of the round-faced, matronly woman who was manning the stall. He'd rolled his eyes at his brother's insistence that  _he_ buy the book but dutifully fished out 50 cents to pass up to Sam, who replaced it in his palm after a second. The woman solemnly accepted the money with a twinkle in her eye before handing the book directly to Sam, who promptly opened it on top of his brother's protesting head and began to read. Dean had then had to jog to catch up with their father, grumbling. When John caught sight of the two of them he let out a tremendous guffaw and doubled over with laughter, holding his sides. He also snatched up a Polaroid from the nearest stall just so he could take a picture. Dean still had that snap somewhere: Dean was red in the face and glowering at the camera, a book balanced on his head, while an oblivious Sammy hunched over it, tracing the large print with his chubby finger.

Nani didn't get half the credit she deserved, Dean thought. He'd thought that before, but never had it felt so much like a punch to the gut. It wasn't easy bringing up a sibling, especially one who was never going to be able to fit in with the other kids. You had to be there, you had to know what to do, even if you were just as scared and lost as they were; even if all you wanted was to be three years old again, when your biggest worry was that the blue crayon had rolled so far under the couch that you couldn't reach it. Then again, Sammy had never had a jar full of spoons in green goo and claimed to be punishing his friends. Dean snorted at the imagined look on John's face at seeing his youngest son attempting to practise dark hoodoo.

He got pretty lost in the film after that, they all did. The snacks were eaten as quietly as possible lest noisy chewers get a sharp look from Cas. Dean normally would've ragged on him for acting like a librarian but watching Cas watch the movie was even more interesting than the movie itself, though not all of it was good; at several points, Cas looked almost on the verge of tears and when Stitch pulled the book out the window with him, he let out a gasp that seemed to resonate from somewhere deeper than his lungs. Dean almost asked him if he was alright but something stopped him. He didn't want to interrupt what seemed to be the kind of experience he himself had talked about earlier. Not quite the escape Cas had mentioned, but the thing Dean had meant but couldn't express. When a movie caught you, sucked you in, it wasn't escapism, not exactly; it was finding something there that felt familiar and  _liking_  it. Seeing his own fierceness in Lilo, he found it admirable, seeing Stitch's recklessness, he felt pride, and when Nani broke down at the thought of losing her sister and refused to accept it as reality he  _understood_. And it wasn't 'cause of the deeper message or any of that crap Sam kept spewing, it was purely selfish; sometimes he needed the distance to look at parts of himself and not want to punch something. Not that he could tell Cas that, or anyone for that matter, but it looked like Cas was getting a glimpse.

He smiled, at least Metatron hadn't been able to take  _that_  from him. Apparently the scribe of God wasn't big on Disney.

Dean reached into the popcorn bowl and his hand only found smooth, unpopped kernels. He grumbled but picked one to chew on anyway, he liked the crunch of them. Sam grinned and looked like he was about to say something snarky but thought better of it. Cas didn't move, his hands were shaking, balled into tight fists in his lap as he stared at the screen, unblinking, although the fight scene was over. Gantu was in chains and the president lady ordered Stitch to be taken too. Dean had all but abandoned the movie to watch Cas instead, the minute twitches of his face were the only signs that he hadn't been frozen by a spell or something (hey, it wouldn't be the weirdest thing that had happened when watching TV).

The angel let out a relieved laugh when Lilo produced the paperwork that would allow Stitch to stay and relaxed back into the couch cushions as the jaunty music that signalled the final montage began, though he still looked contemplative. Dean turned his attention back to the snacks on the table, so he wouldn't be caught staring. Cas let the credits roll, despite the fact that the remote was closest to him. After the final credit song ended, Sam raised an eyebrow.

"Cas, are you okay?"

Dean looked over, grateful for the excuse.

"That was a very good movie," Cas replied carefully, "I enjoyed it very much."

"But?" Sam pressed.

Cas shook his head after darting his eyes over to the brothers, "It's nothing, it just gave me a lot to think about."

Sam narrowed his eyes suspiciously but let it go, "Alright," he said, "did you wanna watch another one?" His question was directed at the both of them, though he was still looking at Cas, his face softened in concern. There were still a lot of snacks left uneaten, despite the fact that the popcorn and nachos had all gone, as had three of the chip bags. The table was littered with empty candy bar wrappers, half-melted chocolate stuck in globs to the insides but there were still plenty more in the pantry.

Dean thought that  _maybe_  he had gone a little overboard when Sam had let him loose in the snack aisle at the local Hy-Vee, but this was their first movie night in months, what with Cas coming back from the dead and then searching for Jack and looking for a way to get Mary back from Apocalypse World and Dean going there with Ketch and everything else that had happened, there just hadn't been a time where they'd all felt safe enough to relax. But now Lucifer was dead and their family was all firmly in the same universe, it was long overdue.

Even hunting had been quiet lately. Dean was hard-pressed to think of the details of their last few cases. A djinn in Idaho, a nest of vampires in Wisconsin, a poltergeist in Texas, none of them enough of a challenge to be memorable. No major injuries, no extra levels of darkness they'd uncovered or had to tap into, the people who should've been saved had been. Run-of-the-mill hunts that were remarkable in their routine.

"Nah," Dean said, swinging his legs off the sofa and standing, immediately bending to snatch up the empty bottles and bags and shoving them into the trash bag he'd had the foresight to bring in earlier, "I think one kid's cartoon is enough for me."

"Dude, I caught you binging Scooby-doo last week," Sam shot back.

"Scooby-doo doesn't count. We met them, remember? And it was  _barely_  PG, what with you and Velma making out all over the place."

Sam snorted, though a pink tinge crept up his face. "Right. Nothing to do with the murders, huh?"

"What murders?" Dean asked innocently, snatching up an empty Bounty wrapper, "it was all done with mirrors, right, Cas?"

"Hmmm?" Cas said distracted, "Oh, yes. The talking dog was very brave."

Dean rolled his eyes fondly, as much as he would've liked to tease Cas about his inattention, he knew better, and putting another movie on straight away might overwhelm the guy or worse, cause him to lose whatever he was feeling too soon; so, although Dean was getting a hankering to marathon the Shrek movies (by which of course he meant the first two and no others), it would have to wait while Cas let himself experience a movie properly, perhaps for the first time, he'd never reacted so strongly on any of their other movie nights.

"Either way, I've been meaning to start going through all the cars in the garage, they all look like they're in decent shape but it's been over thirty years since any of 'em had an MOT. I don't want you or Cas taking one out and finding out the brakes are faulty or something; especially if you wanna teach Jack to drive at some point."

"Dean, there are over a dozen cars in there," Sam complained, though he did start helping Dean clear the table, "you won't be able to do much tonight."

"I can get an inventory started," Dean said, tying the bag off. Then he looked at his brother properly. Sam was worrying at his lip with his teeth and not meeting his eyes. "Hey," he said softly, not moving until Sam looked at him, "we can do this again tomorrow, alright? We got nowhere else to be."

"Right," Sam said, flipping his hair but looking no less worried, "no, I know."

"I'm not gonna disappear when I walk out the door, y'know. I'm only going to the garage. You can come with if you want."

"What, and watch you practically hump all the cars in there? No thanks, I don't need to see that."

"Hey, all humping is reserved for Baby." Dean said with a wink.

"Gross, dude," but Sam laughed with real warmth that made something glow in Dean's chest. He knew Sam had been through hell lately, since Lucifer died, in fact. Sam had explained it once as finding it hard to believe that he was really gone; at least knowing he was out there had made the world feel real, because it couldn't be a dream if Lucifer was in it, and if Sam knew that he was far away it felt safer than thinking him gone completely. Dean only kind of understood, as best he could anyway. He tried to reassure Sam whenever he seemed worried that things were too good to be true. Chuck knew the guy deserved some stability to get used to the idea.

Maybe that was partially why none of them had been actively searching for hunts, they were taking the time to just  _be_  for a little while. He was getting better day by day, Dean could see it; he was less twitchy, he smiled more and meant it; though he had been picking at Dean more than usual, and Dean got the feeling that he was getting to the verge of saying something big but backing down before it came spilling out. Dean didn't really want to know what it was, he felt like the fragile peace they had established would shatter the second that Sam screwed up his courage.

But for now, it was enough to clap his brother on the back and drag the full trash bag out with him. He'd throw it in the dumpster before he started to work on the cars. Baby was already pristine but he felt the need to fix something. Fixing Sam would be a slow process and the best thing he could do for Cas right now would be to leave him alone while he sorted through his thoughts. He wouldn't even know where to start on himself. But cars, cars he could fix.

After flinging the bag into the dumpster he was suddenly hit with a wave of dizziness, so strong that his vision greyed out and his knees buckled beneath him. He ended up holding himself half in the dumpster, retching onto the garbage while fuzzy sounds swam around him, like someone was yelling at him from underwater. Then, just as suddenly his vision was back with sharp focus. He blinked and pulled his head back out of the dumpster, letting the cleaner, less disgusting air scrape against his throat on the way in. Man, he hadn't had a withdrawal attack like that in over a week, he'd thought he was over them by now. Great. His arms felt itchy, the way they did when they were crusted with pizza dough or blood. The kind of itchy that was uncomfortable, that made him want to take a shower and scrub himself raw. He wasn't sure where the itch came from, it had been happening now and again, trauma probably; hell, most of whatever weird feelings he got could be put down to trauma of one kind or another, but he found that engine oil soothed it like aloe on bad sunburn. First though, he was going to swig some mouthwash to get rid of the taste of acid.

 

***

 

Twenty minutes later he was under the hood of a silver corvette. A gorgeous car. He'd had his eye on it since they'd moved in, feeling guilty whenever he thought about driving it. Not that it could hold a candle to Baby of course, the corvette definitely wouldn't carry them through even a tenth of what the impala had, but it would be pretty cool to take it out for a spin all the same.

He went to grab a wrench from the tool tray and as he turned he caught a flash of tan in his periphery that hadn't been there before. His stomach lurched uncomfortably before settling when his brain caught up with the fact that it was Cas. He turned to face the angel, pointing at him with the wrench.

"I've told you not to sneak up on me like that."

"I'm not in your space," Cas replied calmly, "you can't hit me from there."

"No, but you could've given me a heart attack," Dean countered, "plus, I've got good aim. What're you doing? Here to learn about engines?"

Cas smiled slightly and shook his head. Dean dropped the wrench back onto the tray with a clang and pulled a rag from his shoulder to wipe his hands with. They still didn't feel quite clean but they were better than before. He'd just have to scrub under his fingernails later.

"That movie gave me a lot to think about." Cas said slowly, his hands slotting into the pockets of his trench, it would have looked comfortable were it not for the tension in his shoulders. "I'm not sure I enjoyed all of it and yet, I would very much like to watch it again at some point."

"Movies can do that to ya," Dean said carefully, still pulling the soft cloth rhythmically over his hands, waiting for Cas to elaborate.

"Was the galactic council supposed to be a metaphor for the workings of Heaven?" Cas asked, not quite looking at him, "Was Stitch supposed to represent a fallen angel? It felt that way. A little too closely to be honest."

"Is that a bad thing?" Dean asked, frowning. Cas' eyes were fixed on a small smear of oil on the concrete floor and he looked like he was trying to figure out something very painful and complicated.

"Not entirely."

Dean flipped the rag back over his shoulder and leaned his hip against the corvette. "Whether it's supposed to be or not, you're not wrong to look at it that way," Dean said, "anything can mean anything if it's argued the right way but that doesn't matter. What matters is how it makes you feel."

Cas tilted his head, those blue eyes flicking to his for half a moment.

"It feels like my story," Cas said quietly, almost as though he was embarrassed to admit it, "I was created, one of many, but I was never exactly what they wanted me to be, despite what I thought. I was sent to pull you from torment, only to subject you to another. I disobeyed my base programming. I have been rejected, because of my own mistakes or because I was too dangerous to have around. I was lost, and I may never be able to completely piece the memories of my life together, considering what Naomi did to me, and along the way you taught me how to fight for the good. I found a home, and I found my family, my ohana," Cas' lips twitched, "and I won't go back, even though I know Heaven could use my power, even though I might be dooming them by staying here, not just the angels but all those souls. Is that selfish of me? To betray what remains of my kind just because I like it better where I am?"

Dean stared at the angel for almost a full minute before answering. Cas looked unsure, vulnerable in a way that was unusual. Normally, when Cas made a decision he stuck to it and didn't look back, but it must be hard when a reminder hit like the splash zone on a rollercoaster to let you know that people were suffering, or going to suffer, because of a choice you made.

"I figure if anyone's got a right to be selfish, it's you," Dean said, "you've already given everything you got. Why shouldn't you get what you want at the end of it?"

"Is that what this is?" Cas asked, his voice very small, "the end of it?"

Dean shrugged, "Kinda seems like it, don't it? The world's gone quiet. Cas, no one needs you to sacrifice yourself or what you want. You can do whatever, you can… travel the world and heal babies, or save bees or you could just, you know… live here."

Cas smiled at him, that huge, rare grin when his lips pulled all the way up and tucked under, showing his gums.

"Just living. I like the sound of that."

"And, I mean, come on, it's not like we're going  _boring,_ " Dean continued, re-picking up the wrench and turning back to the corvette to hide from the intensity of Cas' gaze, "there'll always be things to hunt, people to save. Just hopefully less world-endy. Back to the basics. Hey, can you hand me that chart hanging on the door? The engine seems fine on this thing but it's got a rattle to it that I don't like. I should make a note."

"Your car rattles." Cas said, passing Dean the clipboard and the pen attached to it.

" _My_  car rattles because of the legos I shoved into the heating vents when I was five," Dean said defensively, dropping the wrench back onto the tray, "I don't know why this car rattles, so I don't like it."

"You'll figure it out."

"Yeah," Dean sighed and jotted down a quick note on the chart before placing that down on the tool tray too. No way he could concentrate on the car with Cas wanting to talk about the big stuff, "but not tonight." He lowered the hood of the corvette and scratched at his arms with the rag. The itching was getting worse. Normally he could lose himself in the mechanical work, but there was the sharp tang of copper in the air that he couldn't place and the crusty itch of his arms. He turned back to Cas and smiled, "Wanna grab a beer or something?"

"You're not drinking." Cas reminded him. "Can you-" he hesitated, then cleared his throat.

"What?"

"Dean-"

Dean's eyebrows pinched together. "Are you okay, Cas?"

"Yes. I just… It's alright, Dean."

"What is?" Dean asked and a strange, curdled sensation slipping around in his stomach, like he'd just swallowed an ice cube after not eating all day.

"Everything." Cas said, smiling that gummy smile again and Dean smiled too. He couldn't help it, when faced with that expression of pure joy, how could everything  _not_ be alright? Especially knowing what Cas had been through. If he of all people could still smile like that then that had to mean something. Didn't it?

"Well, I'm glad you're feeling chipper, Stitch." Dean teased, trying to restore some normalcy, even though he was getting a headache, "got your good levels back on balance, huh?"

"Me and Sam are here."

Dean scoffed and scratched at his arms, "Good, 'cause this is where you live. What's with you?" He nudged the angel with his shoulder as he passed, making his way over to the industrial sized sink and turning on the cold tap, shoving his arms under the spray, not even caring that his t-shirt was getting spattered. It worked a little, smoothing over the rawness with numbing cold. Still he scratched at them. Cas followed him, standing inches away. Cas' lack of personal space hadn't actually made him feel uncomfortable in years, but it did so now.

"Dude, too close." He said. Cas huffed and took a half-step back.

"I need you to remember."

"Cas, buddy, you're starting to freak me out," Dean said. He reluctantly pulled his arms from the cold water and shook them out, turning off the faucet before crossing his still flaming arms over his chest and facing the angel, "remember what?"

"What day is it?"

Dean faltered at the unexpected twist, "Errr…"

"September eighteenth," Cas continued, not waiting for an answer, "I saved you on this day once. Ten years ago precisely."

"And on a lot of other days since." Dean said, backing up a couple of steps. Cas' expression was as calm as his voice; he leaned against the sink, staring at him with a softness that Dean couldn't remember seeing before. It set off a dull ache in his chest that he couldn't explain and a shiver ran through him, though the garage wasn't cold.

"It changed everything, that day.  _You_ changed everything. You showed me what family was, what it meant. You taught me that I could choose what I fought for. I know you can hear me."

"Of course I can hear you, you're like two feet away."

"I know you did what you did to kill Lucifer. I hate it but it was the right thing. You saved the world, Dean. Now let us save you."

"Cas, stop!" Dean said, wincing as his voice bounced back off the concrete and cinderblock. Cas' expression was still calm, despite the strangeness of his words, which was even more confusing, "What's going on?"

There was a pause and the lights flickered. Dean tensed, eyes darting around the garage, but they settled again and stayed steady. Cas glanced up, shaking his head.

"I'm sorry," he said, his eyes focusing with piercing energy, "I think that movie affected me more than I thought. I was merely saying that you've been through a lot, and you too are entitled to let yourself heal."

Dean deflated slightly, letting out a gust of air with his next exhale. He didn't need to worry, his family was safe, Cas was just being… Cas.

"Right," Dean said, forcing himself to relax, "yeah, okay." But something still felt weird, as though there was something important that he'd forgotten to do, like clean his guns or go grocery shopping. "Hey, Cas?"

"Yes?"

"How did we kill Lucifer?"

Cas frowned, "You don't remember?"

"Err, no, I guess I can't make it out in my head. Like… I remember seeing his body and before that I remember I had a plan, but nothing in between."

Cas' frown deepened. "Rowena did warn us that there might be side-effects to the spell she used on you, it's one of the reasons Sam and I were so against it in the first place. It was something she found in the Grimoire, something that was able to make you powerful enough to fight Lucifer. It was dark magic but Rowena assured us that none of the consequences would be… cosmic. I'll call her tomorrow and see if your memory loss is related. Though, if you feel alright in every other way then I guess a couple of hours of memory lost is probably the best-case scenario."

"Yeah," Dean said, "I remember everything else, coming home after is a little fuzzy though but I remember everything from when we arrived back here."

"Let me know if there's anything else," Cas said seriously, "if something feels wrong or-"

"I mean, I've been feeling crappy for a while but I don't think it's… you know, related." Dean bit his lip and looked away.

"Because of your withdrawal?"

Dean said nothing. He scratched absently at his arm.

"Did you think none of us noticed?" Cas asked gently, "I wanted to help alleviate your symptoms but Sam said that it would probably be more damaging for you if you thought we pitied you."

"Sam's a smart guy," Dean muttered.

"I don't pity you," Cas said with a sigh, "I just don't like watching you suffer and I want to help in any way I can."

"I brought it on myself, Cas, I need to go through it. But it's fine, it's getting easier."

Cas nodded lightly.

"Alright," he said, "but if you change your mind, if you need anything,  _anything_ , I'm here for you."

"Thanks, Cas," Dean said gruffly, unsure how to respond to the intensity of Cas' tone.

"I mean it, Dean," he said softly, stepping back into Dean's space and placing a hand gingerly on his shoulder, "this time to relax has made me realise that we don't get enough of it to waste. And if the worst is truly behind us then I want to go into it without any secrets or regrets. So I'm going to start the next chapter of my life knowing what I want." Cas' hand slid down Dean's arm, trailing warmth in its wake until their fingers touched. Cas carefully slotted his fingers into Dean's and they felt as though they belonged there, like they should have been there all along, and then Cas' other hand was on his cheek, warm and solid and safe, and he was leaning in and their lips met.

It was like a sharp pulse of static in his chest, bordering on painful. Dean pushed his lips back against Cas' almost on reflex, once, twice, before Cas stepped back again with a nervous smile, "Is this something that  _you_  might want?"

Dean waited for the shame, he waited for his father's voice to come crawling out of that hole in the back of his brain that told him that these kinds of feelings were fine for other people to have, but he had to focus on his family. He couldn't get distracted or confused, he had no room to question. Sure, it was all well and good to get laid once in a while but Sammy came first. He could not let the world see him as weak. Other hunters had to respect him, and you couldn't earn respect if were…  _like that_.

But the shame didn't come, the voice was quiet.

"I-" he said, swallowing hard, his voice hoarse as if he'd been yelling. This feeling was too big to voice, too all-consuming to squeeze into something as small as language. He swallowed hard, his tongue darted out to wet his lips. He tasted Cas, it tasted like home.

Cas looked equally anxious, those blue eyes were raw and open, the creases at the edges matching the lines on his forehead that hadn't been there a decade ago. Dean wondered why they were there; he wondered if Cas had  _let_  them appear, if he was letting his vessel age just to fit in or if those lines had been carved during his stint as a human, or during one of his prolonged periods of low power. Dean wasn't sure which thought hurt more.

For a few precious seconds they just looked at each other, then the angel blinked and that hopeful look was gone, replaced with practised calm. His hand slipped from Dean's and Dean let it go, the way he always let it go, the way he always pushed it away when all he really wanted was to dig his nails in deep and cling like a damn barnacle. He let Cas' hand fall from his, accepted the chill of the air in the spaces between his fingers and watched Cas turn to leave before a question popped into his mind with demanding clarity, something he'd never really thought to ask himself before.

_Why?_

Why did he keep pushing Cas away? Why it was acceptable for him to agonise over every text, to dwell on every passing touch or relieved hug? Why he was so afraid of giving the 'wrong impression' when all he wanted was to shake his best friend by the lapels of that stupid coat and tell him exactly what he was worth, that he was smart and capable and far kinder than Dean deserved?

And because he didn't have an answer, because he couldn't think of one damn reason that could possibly justify all the time lost to self-inflicted agony, he caught Cas by the wrist and pulled him back and around, crashing their mouths together without pausing to think.

To Cas' credit he didn't falter, one hand went straight to Dean's hair, nails scraping gently across his scalp; the other broke free of the grip on his wrist and sought out his shoulder, fingers pressing bruises into the place Castiel had first touched him ten years ago, where he had branded into him a claim, a salvation.

Cas let out a sound that was almost a growl and it sent electricity shooting down Dean's spine. The hand not clutching desperately at Cas' coat reached up to cup the angel's chin and his thumb brushed cheekbone reverently. The kiss didn't shatter the earth or make him see stars but—even more miraculously—Cas' lips on his made his fear go away. He felt safe and loved, he felt so much of it that he thought his heart might split open at the seams.

"I love you, Cas," Dean whispered when they broke apart and his hands fell back to their sides. His eyes were still squeezed shut and he said it like he was taking confession. His greatest sin was that he'd kept those words in until now. Even the ground seemed to tremble with the gravity of them.

He felt a hand on his cheek and cracked his eyes open to look. Cas was smiling at him, warm and adoring and even slightly amused.

"That's good," he said, "it'll make things less awkward when I tell you that I love you."

Dean exhaled a chuckle. He supposed he'd known for a while that he and Cas had something different to friendship, what with the strange dance they did; the staring, the evasion, the cocktail of words both wrong and right that always set him spinning, but he'd just been too afraid to acknowledge it. It was easier to brush it aside, pretend that he didn't trust Cas just as much as he trusted Sam, that he didn't miss him or worry when he wasn't in the bunker, that he didn't find it hard to settle at night until he heard those familiar, steady footsteps pacing the corridors, like a sentry, a guardian.

Turns out, Dean Winchester likes feeling protected, who knew?

Cas pressed his lips to Dean's cheek before stepping back, taking his hand.

"Come home," he said, pulling Dean with him back into the bunker proper with an almost wicked grin. Dean followed him willingly, ignoring the way that his arms still itched.

 

***

 

In an old warehouse in Nebraska, Castiel yelled his anguish as Michael dropped him. The archangel's arms were bloody to the elbow and Cas lay there, panting, holding in his own intestines, his hand flickering with weak pulses of grace as he tried to heal himself. Sam ran to him as Michael smirked, told them that this was a warning, and vanished.

"Cas, are you okay?" he asked, dropping to his knees next to the wounded angel, watching with relief as the worst of his injuries began to knit back together, "did it work? Did you get through to him?"

Cas sagged against him and shook his head.

"For a moment I thought I-" he croaked, "but Michael found a way to counter me. He  _used_ me, he used my words to deepen whatever delusion he has Dean trapped in. I only made things worse."

Sam gripped at Cas' coat to steady him, and also himself. He cursed under his breath, he'd failed his brother again.

"Can you walk?" Sam asked. Cas nodded and Sam helped him struggle to his feet. The angel looked  _destroyed_ , and not because he was pale and splattered with his own blood. His eyes were dark and haunted, and when he leaned some weight against him, Sam felt him tremble.

"We can't keep doing this," Cas said hoarsely as they limped, defeated, back to the impala, "I'm not enough. I don't have the strength to break through to him. I thought I could reach him directly using our bond but it went through Michael first and he managed to  _corrupt_  it. Sam, what have I done?"

Sam's jaw clenched as he helped Cas into the passenger seat. He leaned over to hold the angel's gaze.

"This is not your fault, okay? So this plan didn't work out, it was a long shot, but we'll come up with something else and we won't give up. We'll get him back, Cas. We will. I believe that."

Cas sighed and looked straight ahead without answering. Sam used the break to manoeuvre around the car and slide into the driver's seat. He started up the engine and felt comforted when she began to rumble around them. There was no use dwelling on his mistakes, it was easier to focus on the road ahead, they'd go back to the bunker, they'd come up with a new plan and they'd try again. 

He was trying so hard to hold on to hope but the truth was that without Dean he was losing it too. He knew that Cas had his back and they made a good team but everything felt off-balance and they were both spiralling out. Cas had led them in the direction of two of the remaining earth-bound angels just in case they had any more information, he even confessed that he had prayed to Naomi for help, though he'd gotten no answer of course. Sam had captured and… interrogated several demons to get them to try and wake Dean up from the inside, like Crowley had done for him, but the one that had actually agreed to try Michael squashed immediately.

So tonight they'd tried holy fire and the sigil that Dean had used on Lucifer when he was inside of Cas, but in the same way it had only given them a few seconds and the Dean that had emerged had been bleary eyed and confused and Sam was pretty sure he hadn't heard a single word before Michael wrested control back. Then, Michael had dismissed the holy fire with a wave of Dean's hand and flown at Cas, who was closest, pinning him in the air and ripping at his vessel with callous, precise hands. All the while, Cas tried to talk to Dean, telling him that it was okay, and that they were here and reminding him what day it was. His final plea before Michael had grown bored had been for Dean to come home. Honestly, Sam had never heard anything more heartbreaking.

He glanced over at the seat next to him; tears rolled silently down Cas' face, the only outward sign that he was feeling anything at all as he stared resolutely at the road in front of them. Okay, maybe that was just as heartbreaking. He'd never seen Cas cry before; it was almost as bad as watching Jack mope around the bunker, frustrated and feeling guilty that he couldn't help. Sam pressed his lips together and turned back to the road. He had no more comfort to offer than his determination to make things right. They would get Dean back, they would defeat Michael, they would go back to hunting and movie nights and family dinners. So they'd take the hit, but the fight would continue because they believed in that future, because they always chose family, and family means no one gets left behind.

 

**Author's Note:**

> So there you have it. What do you think?  
> I know this idea has been done a lot but I really wanted to take a crack at it myself. I hope I managed to pull it off and not make it too obvious from the beginning.
> 
> Feel free to come find me on [my tumblr](https://tibbinswrites.tumblr.com/), I always love talking to you and you'll get sneak peeks of whatever I write next. Plus a bunch of my poetry if any of you are interested in that.
> 
> Love Tibbins xx


End file.
